Aniruddha Pathak Poems

Age advised me one late eve:
Life is not to grieve,
Wrinkles reign should a smile leave.
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There was a country hand, a rustic—
Some fancy calling him bucolic.
Going by what was Greek,
Keeping in mind colic,
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Aloof and apart
Still with a warm heart,
What unique thine art!
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For lunch he expected when a treat,
Mashed turnips the sole meal was to eat.
And he heard when wife's rage:
First, clear up the garbage,
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‘Pon my spine, pressure of gravity,
On brain's grey cells that of levity,
And my age shows its age,
Ear and nose hair as rage,
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If decision
Of a calm mind—
Say, of an owl
Contemplating to prowl,
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O coniferous evergreen redwood,
World's tallest tree
And ever so good,
That wears greens all thru the year,
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And when the dust does settle
After this hard time's battle,
How good if we realize
How little we really need
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What a joy this nature's sound—
Cicadas when sing,
Out after years underground
And just as soon vanishing!
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Corona's been no doubt a long night
Of dark clouds, but with silver lines bright,
And I must be honest
If not all so modest,
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